Seasons Of Life

There’s a season of Mom Life that is not talked about among many mom groups. There are plenty of people cheering each other on as they sit staring at their phone at 2 a.m., wondering if their newborn’s poop should be that color; you can find someone in your corner if you’re parenting the wild toddler who just cleared an entire library bookshelf in 2.6 seconds; you will always find a shoulder to cry on after you drop your kindergartener off for his first day of school.

But what about when you’ve dropped your first grader off for her 126th day of school and find yourself incredibly, inexplicably, lonely? When you find yourself staring at a long day of NOT looking after your child? Whatever work you have ahead of you to occupy your day, your primary duty will not be to keep this child, this tiny person who has occupied your thoughts 24/7 for 6 or 7 or however many years, alive. Someone else will keep her alive. Someone else will be there to witness her make a new friend, or finally understand that math concept she’s been struggling with, or even lose her first tooth. It won’t be you. You will sit at home, thinking of all the time you’ve devoted to raising these beautiful children, all the things you can’t possibly put on a resume but seemed like the most important skills in the world at the time (should “I can find the relevant episode of Daniel Tiger for any situation in under 5 minutes” go under management skills or teamwork skills?).

Suddenly the stakes are much higher and much more complicated. To succeed as a mom with a baby, you just need to have survived the day with a living, breathing baby. By the time you have a preschooler or elementary-aged child, no matter how you’re parenting, not everyone will think you’re a success. Some may think you’re overindulgent, some may think you’re strict, some will think your child’s ailment is fake, etc. There’s never any objective guidepost to check and verify that you’re doing the right thing. Will your child relate the story of your reaction to the time he broke the window to a laughing audience one day, or a frowning therapist?

Almost overnight, you transform from the mom struggling to have a single moment to yourself (the “can’t I at least pee alone” joke is funny because it’s true, people) to the needy mom following her kids around begging for a single scrap of information. Questions like “How was school today” are answered with single-syllable grunts at best. I can tell you the exact type, shape, and age of cheese that my kids prefer, but I have no idea who they talk to throughout the day.

Meanwhile, the task of moving forward to the next season of life, in which I have a life outside of my children, requires saying good-bye to the previous season of my life, and I don’t know how to do that yet. There’s almost a grief associated with it. I love the people my children are becoming; they are funny, silly, empathetic, amazing individuals, but I still miss those tiny terrors they once were. They were MY tiny terrors, and they were the very best of terrors.